What foodies forget: Meals are more than food

2of 2Maggie Galehouse (right) and her mom, Norma, at The French Laundry.Photo: Courtesy Maggie Galehouse

Over a sautéed filet of Pacific blue nose medai -- the sixth of our 11-course lunch at The French Laundry -- my mother and I talked about our most memorable meals.

We were in the perfect place to ruminate: Thomas Keller's famed restaurant in Yountville, Calif. The one that keeps getting three stars in the Michelin Guide. The one that served as inspiration for "Ratatouille," Pixar's animated film about haute French cuisine.

Actually,"Ratatouille" remembers what foodies tend to forget: that the best plates are often the simplest. That food alone is never enough to make a wonderful meal.

A spaghetti dinner in Yavapai County, Arizona, about an hour north of Phoenix. It was an annual fundraiser for Arcosanti, an experimental town dreamed up by Paolo Soleri, a progressive architect hot for arcology – a mash-up of architecture and ecology. A little groovy, a little Commie, Arcosanti never really took off, but it stands as a testament to a bold idea, and there's a foundry on site that still produces beautiful bronze bells.

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The food at Arcosanti's annual Italian night was a so-so spaghetti and meatballs. But it was one of my first nights out after having a baby. My husband and I sat outside near the edge of a canyon at sunset, our bare arms bathed in the cool, high desert air. White tablecloths flapped in the wind and cypress trees bordered one side of the grassy eating area. I was wearing a cute new halter top and had just about lost the worst of the baby weight. The red wine kept coming, and I kept thinking: Let's live here!

A family holiday in Majorca. I was 10; my sisters, 8 and 4. My parents wanted to take us on a drive around the Mediterranean island, but what to do about lunch? The hotel concierge said: No problem. We'll pack you a picnic.

My sisters and I were all: WHAT?! HOTELS CAN PACK PICNICS?!

On the hillside where we finally parked, my father pointed out a grove of banana trees below us. WHAT?! MAJORCA HAS BANANA TREES?! BANANAS GROW ON TREES?!

All I remember of the lunch is chocolate bars and blood oranges, the fruit so ripe that the juice dripped from our fingertips to our elbows in a thin, sticky stream.

And then there was the meal with Julia Child. My mother works as an assistant to Jacques Pepin – revered French chef, cookbook author and television personality. So it came to pass that one night in Washington, D.C., we found ourselves dining with Julia Child at the restaurant Jean-Luis, in the basement of the Watergate Hotel. (Chef Jean-Luis Palladin and his restaurant are both long gone now.) There were many courses, many bottles of wine. I ate my first sea urchin that night. Our dessert couldn't have been simpler or more delicious: a slab of grilled pineapple, ripe and warm.

But the highlight of the meal was Julia, the 6-foot-tall "home cook" seated to my left. "I am not a chef!" Child declared that evening, clearing up a common misconception. She was fun, funny, interested in everyone around the table, engaged with the wait staff. When we said goodbye, she hugged everyone in the group before pouring herself into a cab.

Bon appetit! I said in my head -- in her voice -- as the cab sped away.

As my mom and I remembered that meal together, I wondered what I'd remember about the one were enjoying that very moment in California. Probably the both of us giddy with champagne at noon. How we decided that French Laundry waiters would make the best boyfriends ever because they were so quick to anticipate our every need. How we couldn't wait to go home and take a nap.

Because in this world of endless 100 Best Restaurants lists, where people name-drop "Wagyu beef," it's important to remember that a meal is so much more than the food on a plate.

Maggie Galehouse is the Houston Chronicle's book editor. She grew up in New England and earned a Ph.D. in English at Temple University in Philadelphia, Penn. An award-winning reporter, Galehouse has covered education, crime, business and features for a handful of newspapers.

Occasionally, Maggie can be heard on NPR discussing books. Her book reviews have appeared in the New York Times, the Philadelphia Inquirer and the Houston Chronicle.

Galehouse lives south of Houston with her photographer husband and their young son, who enjoys "Encyclopedia Brown" mysteries. She writes the Bookish blog for the Chronicle.